This Years Love
by Krys1
Summary: A year could a lot of things... but could it have changed love? A carby.


Title: This Years Love  
  
Author: Cristallo  
  
E-Mail: cristalla16@msn.com Please e-mail me and tell me what you think of my writing. A positive e-mail regarding a writer's work just makes their day.  
  
Summary: A year could change a lot of things. but could it have changed love?  
  
Category: Carter and Abby (carby) and angst/ romance  
  
Rating: R for strong language, sexual content and mature situations.  
  
Disclaimer: Yes... I admit it. I secretly own ER and I'm the person who has gained complete and total dominance of the show. I'm the one who has been crossing out all the carsan and luby dialogue, and replacing it with carby fuzz. How else would you explain the sudden fuzziness of season nine? Muahahahaha. OK, back to reality now. I DON'T OWN ER! What a surprise.  
  
Spoilers: I'm not sure if I'm going to venture into the ninth season's time or use my magical time-traveling powers to have this take place at the end of season eight so be prepared for any possible spoilers.  
  
Author's Notes: I have decided to try and get into Abby's head to write this fic from her POV, and believe me it wasn't easy, but I tried my best. The title comes from the song "This Years Love" by David Gray. I was struggling with what to name this fanfic, and as I was listening David's CD yet again, I realized that this song title was perfect. By the way, one of his songs was in "Sailing Away" during a carby scene. I swear I'm addicted to any kind of song or music artist that reminds me of carby lol. Anyway, enough with me babbling and on with the fic.  
  
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The road continued to stretch out in front of me, never seeming to end. It was as if it could go on and on, leaving me to drive down this damn road forever. The desert was so vast and empty, leaving me to wonder why the hell I chose to drive instead of taking a flight. But no, that would be the sensible thing to do and when was I ever sensible? It would still be a while before I reached my destination. Although it was only evening, I was exhausted after driving all day while hardly ever stopping. The sun was now disappearing quickly. I feel the caffeine and nicotine in my body start to diminish, and all I can think about now is falling into a deep sleep and not wake up until sometime during next week. Only a few more hours to go, I tell myself. Then I'll be back home. Funny how I call Chicago "home." It was where I spent years of hell being married, had my dream of becoming a doctor crushed, endured a horrible break-up with one man, fell in love with another... The memories come rushing at me now, in full force. God, I hate it when that happens. You spend so long trying desperately to forget, yet they never really remain forgotten. They'll always be there, locked up in the back of your mind, but there nonetheless.  
  
One Year Earlier  
  
"Please, don't leave me. I'm sorry." I sob out pathetically. But there is anger in his eyes and I realize right then and there that he knows. He knows what I did. I can almost hear him think about how disgusted he is with me right now. I can see it in the way he's looking at me. The damage has been done. There was no turning back now. Yet I don't want to accept this, so I cry out to him again. I tell him I love him somewhere in between my yelling and blaming the world- everyone but myself of course- for this misery I have inflicted upon myself. I stumble through the darkened apartment, reaching out to him, but he quickly shoves me away and starts to head out the door. I scream at him for being just like the rest of them. I scream at him for making me believe that he loved me when he never did. This causes him to stop, but he doesn't turn around. Instead he just keeps on heading out the door, and I watch him leave my life. Long after he had gone I remained in the same position, staring at the door and waiting. Waiting for him to walk right back through it, realizing what a huge mistake he had made. And then he would tell me that he loved me, always had, and that everything was going to be okay. But he never did. He never forgave me for doing what I had done. He never said he loved me again. He never walked back.  
  
Present Time  
  
The road in front of me is no longer visible since it's now pitch dark outside. Thankfully, I notice that there is a motel not too far ahead. I can make out its vacancy lights in the distance, and to me at this point it's like the bright white light of heaven. I spend the time getting to those lights focusing on a new day and hoping that tomorrow will be different. I tell myself it will be, and just for tonight I believe it. For I know that tomorrow is the day I'm coming back to Chicago. Tomorrow is the day I'm coming home. 


End file.
